


The Lady of the Lake

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Avalon - Freeform, Destiny, Friendship, Multi, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Elyan dies, he meets Lancelot and Freya. Freya is the one responsible for keeping Arthur's knights fighting fit and entertained until the day their king wakes up and needs them for the last battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady of the Lake

The first thing Elyan remembered was his sister rocking him, singing a soft lullaby in her little-girl voice. The last thing he remembered was his sister, no longer a girl, but a woman grown, and a queen. Elyan himself was no infant, but a knight. And still she rocked him. He wanted her to sing to him, one last time, but he hadn't the voice to tell her so. Instead he listened to her sobs as he went into eternal night.

Or so he thought.

*

He woke to birdsong, soft grass and sunshine. He blinked his eyes open, touched his body warily as he sat up. The wound was gone, and so was the pain. He found that he was in an orchard, where the apple trees were in bloom, even though it had been high summer just a moment ago. The smell of the flowers was fresh and clean, just as this new world was.

Elyan rose carefully. His legs still felt a bit wobbly. Only now did he realise that he wasn't wearing his bloodied hauberk, or the gambeson. Without it, he felt wonderfully free, no longer weighed down. His clothes were such as he'd worn in his youth, when he'd been a troublesome boy with too many dreams and feet which itched for the roads.

As he walked through the orchard, he knew not where he was going, but still there was some sort of intent behind it. As if he was drawn somewhere. Only as the orchard ended, and he saw the water of a lake, did he understand.

There was a man sitting on a rock, just by the water. His feet dipped into the surface, moving slowly. He held the fishing rod as if it wasn't very important for him to catch anything, as if he simply liked to sit there. Elyan came closer. The man seemed familiar, too familiar.

And then the man turned round.

"Elyan."

Elyan felt his throat thicken at the sight of that serene, beautiful face.

"Lance, is it really you?"

Lancelot put his fishing rod away, stood up, and closed the distance between them. He didn't touch Elyan at first, just stood there and smiled. "It is. This time it's really me, not a shade."

Elyan stretched out his hand and touched Lancelot's cheek. It was warm and stubbly.

"I thought you died," Elyan said, amazed, before he embraced his friend. They had always been close, the two of them. Their love of Guinevere had assured it. "I thought you died," he repeated, feeling unmanly tears prickle his eyes.

"I did," Lancelot said, very softly, before he pulled back. He kept a hand on Elyan's arm. "And so did you, brother. The sword guarding our queen killed you."

"Oh," Elyan said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I don't feel dead."

Lancelot smiled. "It's because you're not. You died in Camelot, but here in Avalon, you're alive and well."

" _Avalon,_ " Elyan said, tasting the word. "I think you mentioned it, once. Do you remember? It was just the two of us, facing all those bandits. We thought we would die, and you said I shouldn't be afraid. That those who died a valiant death went to Avalon, where the only adventures to be had were good ones."

Lancelot laughed. "I remember," he said.

*

Lancelot took him to a little house. It looked very much like any of the cottages of the outlying villages. Its walls were neatly daubed, its roof was a thick mop of reeds. A cat lay on the low wall surrounding the house, basking in the spring sunshine.

"There's someone you should meet," Lancelot said, and Elyan followed him inside.

There was a young woman there; she was small, neat and dark-haired. Her skin was very pale, just like Merlin's had been. She was taking loaves of bread out of a great oven. The smell made Elyan's stomach rumble.

"Sir Elyan the White," the girl said, and her voice seemed to ring through the house. For a moment she wasn't a girl with flour on her nose, but a great lady, with gold glinting at her neck. Elyan blinked, and she was once again a little thing. "Will you and Sir Lancelot of the Lake share my bread with me?" she asked.

Elyan looked at Lancelot, who nodded discretely, before he replied. "Gladly, My Lady."

"My name is Freya," she said later, as Elyan licked the last honey from his fingers. "They call me the Lady of the Lake."

"Are you dead, too?" Elyan asked before he could think better of it. He was giddy with energy, and somehow it made him feel younger than his years.

Freya smiled at him. "I lived briefly in your world before I was called to this place, to do the work I was always meant to do."

"What work is that?" Elyan, the once taciturn, asked.

Freya blinked at Lancelot. "Your friend asks a lot," she said, jesting, before she turned to Elyan again. "Do you know of the powers of Light and Dark, Elyan the White?"

Elyan frowned. "Do you mean the Old Religion and the Lady Morgana?"

Freya sat up straight, so that it seemed she was sitting in a high seat rather than on a bench. "The Light and the Dark are greater than that, Elyan. They battle each other, but as yet none of them has won, not completely. In this age, Arthur and Merlin fight for the Light, whereas Morgana is of the Dark. Arthur will keep the Dark at bay in his lifetime, but not even he will defeat it completely. One day, when the last battle between Light and Dark will stand, Arthur will return. When he does, he will need his knights. My work is to bring all of Arthur's great knights here, to my hall in Avalon, and to keep you fighting fit and ready."

Elyan looked around himself, at the small cottage.

Freya laughed. "Don't be fooled, Elyan. My hall is really very large. It seats many warriors." With the odd double sight that had come over Elyan earlier, he saw what she meant. For a moment, he sat in a great hall, greater even than that of Camelot, and richly furnished. Freya continued. "One day, all of Arthur's knights will be here, and others too. The best and the bravest of warriors, to fight the last battle alongside their king."

"Are you of the Light, too?" Elyan asked. He wondered what role a girl like she could have to play in the grander scheme of things.

"For a long time, I might have been of Light or of Dark; I didn't know," Freya said, sounding pensive. "It took ancient magic and a great sacrifice purify me, to bring me back to myself and my true purpose. I was killed thrice; by cold steel, by hot fire, by cool waves." Her voice had a soft lilt, and it made her sound as if she was reciting poetry.

She told him many wonderful things.

*

"Will Merlin come here, too?" Elyan asked as he and Lancelot prepared to leave again; Lancelot had promised him a hunting trip.

Freya leaned against the doorpost. She looked sad, perhaps.

"I will have many of the great with me in the ages to come, but the warlock is not one of them. He will be our eyes and ears in the world, until the day the king returns."

"Merlin is a warlock?" Elyan said. He'd always sensed that there was something about Merlin, but this he hadn't expected.

"Merlin is the most powerful of all," Lancelot said gravely.

"He cannot die," Freya filled in. "Until his king comes for him, he will not find rest."

Elyan shuddered. He couldn't imagine what it must be like, to see all one's loved ones die and know that one would never do so. "But the rest," Elyan said. "Gwaine, Leon, Percival – "

"Your brothers will come," Freya said. "It might take years and years in their time, but to you it will only feel like a few days, or weeks perhaps."

When Elyan opened the door and the light flooded in, Freya looked very beautiful. The sunshine gave red hues to her hair and golden ones to her eyes.

"I shall see you later, then," Elyan said.

Freya lifted her hand in blessing.

"Go now," she said. "Hunt my deer, and bring back meat for the feast."

"There will be a feast?" Elyan asked, and Lancelot laughed his quiet, gentle laugh.

"I hold a feast every night, Elyan," Freya said. "It is my honour, and my pleasure, to entertain you. Because until the day that Arthur wants you back, you are all promised to me." The grin she gave him now was impish.

Lancelot looked down on his fingernails, refusing to say anything. But Elyan could see that he was trying not to smile.

*

Freya remained a mystery to Elyan, but a wonderful one. She was the girl who provided them with bread. She was the Lady who gave a feast to their honour every night. She was the sorceress who saw faraway lands in a chalice filled with water from the lake, who could even take the shape of a falcon and fly through the worlds. She was the woman who showed him what a wonder carnal love could be.

Elyan learned much from her; powerful mysteries which he'd never found the time for while he was alive.

He learned how pale her skin looked against his own darker one. He learned the things to do with his fingers and tongue and cock to make her emit wonderful sounds, somewhere between sighing and sobbing. He learned to be ridden by her, lying back, holding her hips as she moved on him. He learned the pleased, crooning sounds she made as she touched herself while Lancelot and him found their pleasure together in the bed next to her. He learned the taste of her skin as he held her and sucked deep, lasting kisses onto her throat while Lancelot pounded her above them, steady and strong.

*

Over time, more warriors came to Freya's hall.

Gwaine came; laughing, tossing his hair, delighted to be among his friends again.

Leon came, and he stared at them for the longest while before he broke into tears, the only time Elyan had known him to do so.

Percival came, and he hoisted Elyan in his arms and his eyes were as merry and twinkling as those of a child.

There were others, too. The best and the noblest of men. All of them, save Arthur, who slept in the lake, bound by ancient magic; and Merlin, who was cursed to wander the earth until Arthur rose again.

Elyan and Lancelot remained the closest to the Lady, and to each other. They were always so, until the day when Merlin called on them to wake, to come – to join their king again, at last.


End file.
